


Ways Different Than Our Own

by goldandbeloved



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Fandom - Fandom, Game of Thrones (TV), Rocky Horror Picture Show, shadowcast - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe, Brother/Sister Incest, Consensual Incest, Cosplay, Costumes, Drag, F/M, Genderfuck, Incest, Other, Rocky Horror, Stockings, Twincest, fuck the back row, luxury fetish, queer, shivering with antici...pation, westerosi erotic cosplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-02
Updated: 2017-12-02
Packaged: 2019-02-09 08:52:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12884373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goldandbeloved/pseuds/goldandbeloved
Summary: Well, this is what happens when you think "Oh no, I don't think I'd ever do a high school story." Here's a one shot to AU Westeros' cheap malls, theatre kids and midnight movies.





	Ways Different Than Our Own

_Lannisport, 1985_

This is River Road Station, the mall on the road to Gulltown, the one with a beige and salmon tiled floor that shows every stain, the one with the creaky mint slush stand with the gummy counter, the honeyfinger stand where everyone smells of sugar syrup from work and hemp smoke from breaks. Here the clothes come in crinkly plastic sacks instead of jewel toned and gold-stamped paper bags with white clouds of lavender scented tissue. The shops are shuttered now, the metal gratings across them pulled down by girls (who will be going down on unsuitable blue haired, blue bearded boys in their Camaros, but that's after a smoke, a slash of sticky cherry-bright lip gloss and a gossip at the roast chicken cart.)  
The shop girls hang around and talk, killing time till the boys come round in the parking lot. It's almost midnight, let them wait. For a moment, they have the keys to lock and unlock the shops, the kingdom is theirs so they're going to smoke because their jeans are rolled properly, their hair is high and they look _perfect_ clustered by the fountain near the food court. (Only a little while ago, some of them were washing off the grease from serving endless bowls of brown and corn friters, but now they're chatting, eyes sharp talking about which of the customers had the tackiest outfit, who wore what tokar to prom, who's been at the moon tea.)  
They scatter like butterflies at the click click click of heels on the tile floor dodging as someone barrels through in a blur of black and patent, someone behind them both hurrying in the direction of the movie theatre at the end of the concourse.  
One of the girls looks back, her feathered hair fluffed out in a peroxide halo, the golden lion at her neck turning her skin green though she just bought it two days ago, at lunch. She sneers, looking with derision as she pulls a packet out of her tight jeans pulls out a cigarette, puts it between bubble-gum lacquered, snarling lips.  
“Fucking freaks.”  
Cersei's eyes flash with anger; the heels she has on are worth more than that girl's godsdamned paycheck for the week, but Jaime's grabbing her arm, though he's not stopping her.  
Cersei's not at King of the Rock Galeria now. Often when they're at River Road she finds herself smugly tabulating the cost of these girls's plain, stupid evenings against what she'd really spend at her mall and finds theirs wanting in money as well as taste. Occasionally she'll smirk and crow that her Galeria lunch (thin whole wheat crust, arugula, slivers of quail drowned in butter, served on an oversized white plate with a violent slash of blood orange balsamic spattering the plate with red) is worth more than all their wardrobes to the only person who will listen, the only one she can ever tell.  
Cersei's not at the King of the Rock now.  
With a menacing tap, tap of her heels, Cersei walks forward, looks down at her quarry, grinning a wide grin, yes she's enjoying this, since the girl looks nervous, is fumbling with her cigarette. 

 

Without hesitation Cersei slides her tongue over her teeth (to make sure her crimson-black Dior lipstick is perfect), bares her fangs.  
“We are—but aren't we _nice_?”  
Cersei stomps her foot, dislodging a black feather from her boa,watching it drift down between them, bearing ill news. Cersei leers at her prey, twirls a black curl around her satin-gloved finger, strokes the quivering girl's cheek with the other.  
Cersei knows she's close enough that her quarry can smell her cheap white greasepaint mixed with La Mer.  
Cersei can smell her fear.

There's also a mix of anger and lust in the girl's eyes, a curiosity, as she looks up weakly at the lioness who would devour her. Jaime's beside her quick and silent, a flash of gold in the dim mall lights so close to midnight.  
Cersei lasciviously runs her hand over Jamie's oiled, bare chest, daring the girl to do anything but stare, be mesmerized. Her lips are right by Jaime's ear, her heart racing, the half-light shimmering over her black and silver corset, the matching panties lusciously padded with a pair of Jaime's clean socks. Jamie grins back, caressing her arm above the gloves, swivelling his gold-clad hips.  
Cersei leans forward as if to kiss, then snaps her teeth just in front of the girl's earlobe and yes, she's swooned. 

“Stay for a bite?”  
Cersei hisses, heat rising in her veins, in control, definitely not at the King of the Rock now and she's glad.

The girl yanks herself away and runs, dropping the smokes.  
Cersei preens, proud and glorious, walking the perimeter of the fountain court like it's a runway.  
Jaime picks up the cigarettes. “How gallant you are. Remind me to properly thank you for guarding my honour.”  
“Don't put them in your trunks, they'll ruin the line.”  
Cersei takes Jaime's arm as they walk quickly the rest of the way to the ticket office, throw down a few stags for tickets, scramble through the crowd at the sugared almonds stand and take their places in the back row, Cersei coming through as the crowd oohs and ahhs, beautiful boys swooning over her corset all of them applauding in their shredded smallclothes, party hats, smears of cheap makeup. She storms past the shiver in her stomach, unfurling her beauty, no one knows them here and she extends her hand for kisses and bows, which they oblige.  
(people treat her like a queen now. how strange.how wonderful.)

“Magnificent. Such a pleasure to see you, Doctor.”

Jaime offers her a patched seat like a gift and she sits beside him. Her heart beats fast and Cersei leans in for a long, slow kiss that no one in the theatre notices or cares about, they're too busy trying to get their glitter lipstick perfect, kiss their sweetlings and bring back boxes and boxes of marchpane for their row. In the half-dark Jaime leans like he's all gold, not just his boots and shorts and cheap wig and he tastes better, richer than any sticky thing from the concession stand. Some people clap and cheer as they kiss, Cersei pulling up to laugh with joy with the audience, then sprawling across her love all heels and garters, shaking the wig like it's her hair, caressing the pearls at her throat.  
“You're the only one that's got real jewels.”Jaime purrs, nuzzling her neck as the lights go down. 

Cersei leans into him, Grandmother Marla's pearls looking more shimmeringly perfect around her painted neck then they ever do in Lord Tywin's safe deposit box. Cersei pinches his glittered nipple because she can, feeling a rush of power and heat as her love winces, leans into the pain because she's causing it. 

“Next time you should be Janet.” Cersei whispers, thinking of the pleasure they'll have of stripping him to a chemise in the parking lot, her dagger turning it to white shreds before they go in, just like they did with the maid and butler costumes last month.  
Jaime chuckles.

“And after that, dear sister, I'm the one in the fishnets.” He nips at her ear as the first red words appear on the screen. Cersei can't wait. His legs are almost as lovely as hers and she can't wait to compare. With a fanfare and a pop of light, the show begins. 

The Lannister heirs watch the story unfold, sing along, dance and they'll wash their faces and scrub clean at the way station on the long slow drive back to the Rock. For now their heads are tilted together, lips smeared with makeup and glitter and nothing else matters but their entwined hands. 

In the moonlight of the screen, they could be anyone in love.


End file.
